


Another Jasmine Bouquet

by Rusted_Crutches



Category: Bottled Up (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Cyanthia and Arnick Stilton are sibblings, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Human AU, Pining, Strangers to Friends, The location of the two previous tags are very unfortunate, fast burn, general obliviousness, so basically lesbians being lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22290997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rusted_Crutches/pseuds/Rusted_Crutches
Summary: Cyanthia has been receiving flowers and gifts from strangers for most of her life. Usually, she just burns them and calls it a day, never following up with any further contact with the sender. Typically, that did the trick and the would-be suitor wouldn't pursue her further. However, when she receives the same bouquet for several weeks in a row, it once again becomes evident not everyone can be driven off so easily. She's no stranger to persistent bachelors, and this was the last straw. For the first time, Cyanthia decides to take the initiative and tackle the problem at the source. None other than making a visit to Westeria Grove, the very same flower shop she's been receiving the flowers from.
Relationships: Belladonna Saltbush/Cyanthia Laguiole
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome back to "this was supposed to be a long one-shot, but I have no self-control/patience so I'm posting part of it now". This one may not get finished either,,,
> 
> This never moved past the rough draft stage because I liked how it turned out the way it is (hadn't touched it in months beyond the first few writing sessions). I'm uploading it only after a quick error check with absolutely no editing — something I swore I would never do. But here we are. Sorry in advance for any missed mistakes.
> 
> Anyway, had fun writing for this and I still love the idea, but this is nowhere near finished. I hope to continue it one day, but I don't know if that will ever happen. Maybe if this gets some love that'll push me, buuuut it's a BUP fic so I doubt it :'D For those of you who will, please enjoy~. I loved Cyanthia's POV very much.
> 
> (I shamefully admit to using google translate for Cyanthia's french. Though it was very sparingly as I know it's not a reliable source, and did a little research to confirm words mean what I wanted them to. 
> 
> Jetez-les = throw them out.
> 
> les brûler = burn them.)

“Another gift left for you, my lady.”

Cyanthia looks at the Bouquet of flowers in disdain, her eyes filled with hate. A collection of white jasmines huddled together in a clear plastic wrapping finished off with a cheap purple bow. There’s a card inscribed with her name, surrounded by hand-drawn hearts, hidden within the blooms. She scoffs.

“ _Jetez-les._ " She commands without hesitation.

“Oh, are you sure?” the maid asks nervously “They’re such a lovely arrangement—”

“Then keep them yourself,” Cyanthia snaps coldly “Give them to your daughter. Your mother, wife — I do not care. _Just get them out of my sight_.”

The maid nods apologetically “Of course ma’am, I’m terribly sorry to have upset you.” She bows and quickly excuses herself back to the kitchen, out of sight. When she’s gone, Cyanthia sighs and rests her forehead in her hand. How many times was she going to have to tell her?

Cyanthia has always had secret admirers and suitors seeking her hand ever since she was in her early teens. Boys from all over school would flock to her on the playground trying to talk to her. They would offer her snacks and gifts, sometimes even money, just to spend one day in her presence. All the boys loved her, and all the girls envied the attention she got. They so badly wanted to be her, and they would do _anything_ to be in her shoes. It still happens. It never stopped.

Call her a snob, a braggart, but she absolutely hates it. All of it. The constant attention, the one-sided rivalry with women she’s never met, the _countless_ shallow gifts. Oh, she hated the gifts. Especially the _flowers_. So cliche. So empty. so meaningless. She received so many over the years, all beauty was lost.

Awaking to countless arrangements crowding her doorstep for the past ten years infuriated her to no end. She couldn’t stand it, but it would never stop. After all, she _should be grateful so many men adore her and take it as a compliment_. If she didn’t, she was a _stuck up snob_. _Icequeen_ , some call her. Oh, _please_. She always rolled her eyes at that.

That exact arrangement earlier had been sent to her precisely one dozen times within the last month. She has received many from the same persons countless times before, but never within such a short time frame. It was going too far and becoming more than a little worrisome. It’s _harassment_. The police were _useless_.

“Louise,” she calls out. She stands from her seat, pushing in her chair.

“Oui m'dame?” Louise says as she reemerges from the kitchen, flowers still in hand.

Cyanthia walks gracefully over to the spiral staircase leading upstairs, holding her hands together “If any more flowers come in…” she pauses, placing a hand on the banister. “ _les brûler_.”

* * *

“You know, there are some rumors being passed about that you’re sending all of these to yourself,” Arnick says, dumping a rather large armful of flowers into a metal bin.

They’re in Cyanthia’s back yard just five feet from her back door. Several large piles of flowers of all types, both newly bloomed and long since wilted, surround them at their feet. The wind blows lightly, carrying away a handful of loose petals into the distance. Some swirl together in a small vortex of sorts, dancing around before landing in Cyanthia’s hair.

“Do I _look_ so vain?” Cyanthia asks offended, voice angry. She quickly claws the petals out of her hair before Arnick turns around.

“As I said; they’re rumors.” he takes another large armful of flowers and shoves them into the bin “I simply thought you would like to know.”

Cyanthia huffs and folds her arms “Probably started by that _cow_ of the Lappi family,” she mutters to herself.

Arnick takes out a pack of cigarettes along with a box of matches out of his pant pocket and opens them both. He puts one to his lips, striking a match then lighting it. He takes a few puffs assuring it was properly lit, before tossing the match into the metal bin in front of him. The flowers within quickly erupt in flame, sending flames far higher than the outer rim. Cyanthia takes a quick glance at the fire extinguisher resting against Arnick’s leg.

“Well, he’s remaining pretty damn well hidden so far,” Arnick says leaning down to grab a stack of envelopes “If I didn’t know you myself, I might have assumed the same thing.”

She huffs “This garbage appears on my doorstep constantly. Such ridiculous nonsense.”

Quickly opening and glancing over the contents inside each envelope, Arnick one by one tosses them into the fire. She’s never once opened the letters or cards herself. He does it for her on her behalf, checking for any obscene or otherwise suspicious content that may be of use so they may show it to the police as proof of harassment.

“To be fair, all the others showed their faces and outed themselves sooner or later...” He says, then pauses to read the next letter. His face remains passive for a moment, before scrunching up in disgust. He bites down on his cigarette, gritting his teeth.

Cyanthia perks up “Anything?” she asks hopefully.

“No, no. Nothing out of the ordinary,” Arnick says, dropping the letter into the fire “I just... wow, this guy is... _committed_.” he picks up the remaining pile of the enclosed letters and tosses them all into the bin, not bothering to read the rest “Fucking creep.” he murmurs.

She hisses in annoyance. Of course not, they never do. She looks up into the dark cloudy sky, brow furrowed. She is more than fine to deal with a few bouquets appearing at her door, but this was getting ridiculous. Most who sent them dropped off the face of the earth after a week or so, but this one still lingered. _Someone_ wasn’t getting the hint. Well, she supposed it _could_ be worse.

“ _Wisteria Grove_ …”

Cyanthia pulls herself away from her thoughts and looks back to Arnick “What?”

Arnick is holding another envelope, one he must have missed by mistake. He looks to be in thought, examining the outside thoroughly instead of tossing it into the fire like the others. He hums to himself quietly.

“I think all these jasmines are delivered from the same shop,” he shows the envelope to her, the bottom right corner engraved with the name _Wisteria Grove_ “You could probably go there and ask them to stop delivering to your address. Maybe they can even identify the guy placing the orders.”

“Really?” Cyanthia asks surprised, wondering why she had never thought of that herself. “Where is it at?”

“I’m not sure,” he says “The name isn’t familiar, and I don’t believe I’ve seen a shop by that name anywhere in town. It might be outsourced”

Cyanthia deflates with a sigh, disappointed.

“Why don’t you ask the delivery truck next time it comes by? Get directions.”

* * *

“ _Is this the right place_ …?” Cyanthia whispers to herself.

She stands in front of a small building cramped between two much larger ones along the main street, with what looks to be an apartment sitting above it. She looks back down at the shop itself. It’s exterior, made from faded wood paneling, is decorated with spots of mildew and algae. There are two large paneled windows on each side of the central door, completely fogged over with dirt and grime making it impossible to see inside. Everything looked soaking wet, even though it hadn’t rained the past two days.

A faded sign hangs above the door, unreadable. She looks back down to the paper in her hands, then back to the shop. She reads the numbers screwed onto the doorframe. _0916 Main Place_. It was definitely the same address. Still unsure, she reluctantly steps forward and enters the shop.

“Um, ‘ello?” she calls out as she slowly enters, the doorbell ringing above her head.

Looking around, Cyanthia takes in her surroundings. She is surprised to find the shop is even smaller than it seems from the outside. There are no more than maybe seven feet from the front counter to the door. Rows of flowers lined up together upon metal shelves crowd the small shopping area. There was barely any room to walk between the “isles” let alone the thin path to the counter.

“Just a minute!” A voice shouts from a room behind the counter.

Cyanthia carefully shimmies her way through the small pathway to the cash register, holding her breath as the smell was quite overbearing. She quickly makes it to the other side but has to tug her dress free when it gets caught on a stem. She dusts a few lose petals that cling to her dress. By the time she looks back up, someone walks out of the back room.

“Sorry for the wait, ma’am. What can I do you for?”

Cyanthia almost has to do a double-take. A tall built woman walks out from behind a door and approaches Cyanthia from the other side of the counter, removing her gardening gloves. She has long black hair in a collection of small braids tied back in a low ponytail. She’s wearing casual work clothes that fit her form. She also wears a yellow-orange apron with a smiling sun on the front, which greatly contrasts with the muted colors of her clothing. This wasn’t what she expected the owner of this shop to look like.

She realizes she’s been staring at the woman for some time now and shakes herself out of her stupor.

“Is this Wisteria Grove?” Cyanthia asks. “I have your address, but I wasn’t sure if this was indeed the correct place.”

The woman nods “Yep, you got the right place. And, er, sorry about the sign… that thing never stays painted for long.” She pauses for a moment before waving her hand in the air to brush off the subject “But anyway — what would you like?” she asks gesturing to all the flowers around them.

“Oh — I’m not ‘ere to buy anything,” Cyanthia says quickly “I’ve actually come to discuss deliveries that are being made to my home.”

She nods understandingly “Oh, sure, sure. Hang on just a moment.”

The woman begins looking around the counter for something, messing with and flipping through papers. As she does this, Cyanthia takes the time to look for a name tag. She quickly spots it on one of the apron straps and squints. ‘ _Belladonna’_ it says. A beautiful name. Very fitting.

“Okay, I _think_ , it’s in here somewhere…” Belladonna mutters “You’ll have to forgive me, it’s not usually me running the front here.” slamming a large binder on the counter in front of her, she opens it and begins turning the pages, glancing over each one. “Alright, so what is it you wanted to discuss? Did you get the wrong order? Is it the incorrect address?”

“Ah, no.” Cyanthia begins “Someone _else_ has been sending bouquets to me, and I would like to know who it is.”

The other woman nods slowly, still reading through the binder “Name and address?”

“Cyanthia Laguiole. 2015 Richmon Drive.”

Belladonna snaps her head up to look at her with a surprised expression. She examines Cyanthia up and down a few moments as she stands there awkwardly, saying nothing. When she looks back up to her face, she gives a quirky grin, a dimple forming in her left cheek.

“Ohhh, so _you’re_ the one who’s been getting all those Jasmines!” She snickers. “I gotta say, you got one hell of a secret admirer.” she shakes her head, eyeing her. “You _sure_ you wanna ruin the surprise?” she says before looking back down to the binder.

Cyanthia clenches her jaw. Fantastic, another one of these types. The ones who think stalking and continued harassment are considered romance. Whenever she talked about her problems with men pestering her, there was always one of these women around somewhere to butt into the conversation. She knows exactly what she’s going to say. They either constantly try to convince her unwanted advances are _indeed_ romantic or refuse to understand how she doesn’t see it the same way. How disappointing.

She opens her mouth to speak up, but Belladonna beats her to the punch.

“Now that I think about it, you’re always getting stuff like this, huh?”

“Eh… Pardon?”

“You live in that victorian mansion, right?” Belladonna asks. “The one near September Hill?” Cyanthia nods. Belladonna smiles “Thought so. That place’s front doorstep is always flooded with flowers. My delivery guy talks about it all the time.”

“What about it?” Cyanthia asks defensively. Where was she going with this?

“Oh, nothing, I was just,” she pauses for a moment as if thinking of what to say. “Must get pretty annoying, huh?”

Cyanthia looks at her in surprise for a moment, saying nothing. “Uh, y-yes, actually,” she says, a little caught off guard. That wasn’t at all what she was expecting her to say. “That’s why I came to get the man’s name so I could ask him to stop. I’ve been getting these same bouquets from the same person for months endlessly...”

Belladonna glances up from the binder with wide eyes “Oh sh— really?” she looks back and forth between her and the binder several times, flipping through it much faster “Sorry, I didn’t realize— right, right, let me just find this for you—.”

Cyanthia simply watches as she flips through the pages. No one had ever reacted that way to her situation. No one else had ever understood other than Arnick. Not even her parents sympathized with her. She found Belladonna’s reaction quite strange… Though, also refreshing.

“Oh, jeez, _yeah_ ,” Belladonna says, calling her attention back to reality “Sixty orders in three months — and all these personalized messages, seriously?” she pauses and reads over the paper, frowning “Sheesh, what a creep...”

“Ah, yes — and the name?” Cyanthia remembers, trying to remain focused.

Belladonna furrows her brow as she reads, looking between two pages. She puffs air out of her closed mouth and shakes her head. She gives them another once over before speaking again.

“Looks like nothing but a first name, he orders online. Only a P.O Box for address too.” she shrugs apologetically.

Cyanthia frowns, deflating completely. Of course not. Nothing could ever be that easy, could it? “That’s a shame. Thank you anyway,” she says solemnly. Great, there went her only way of finding whoever was sending all the jasmines. Guess there really was no point in coming here.

“Hey—” Belladonna says as Cyanthia just about turns to leave “I can still refuse any orders being sent to your address.”

Cyanthia turns around and looks at her surprised “Wouldn’t that cause you to lose money?” she asks confused.

Belladonna just shrugs “The money isn’t worth it if it comes from the hands of someone like that — I’m sure my parents would agree.” she gives a wink.

“Ah, yes, that is very kind of you… thank you.”

On her rainy walk home, Cynthia thinks about Belladonna, still surprised by her kindness. She realizes that perhaps she judged her a bit too early. She doesn’t think anyone else would have done what she did — not ungrudgingly anyway. She’s very thankful for her and hopes her gratitude is enough to make for her silent judgment. It’s so rare to find someone that understands how she feels...

She wonders if she’ll ever see her again.


	2. Acquaintances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy, Sorry for such a long wait on this second chapter! I got stuck on the ending of a scene and had to set this aside for a few (cough four cough) months until I could figure it out. I'm juggling quite a number of ideas at the moment and the sudden inspiration for this fic gave me a break i've been itching for.
> 
> I dunno what it is about Cyanthia's POV that brings out the over descriptor in me, but it's a big part of my roots and I always have a ton of fun writing in this style.
> 
> Enjoy!

It isn’t long before she finds her answer.

For the next week or so, Cyanthia is relieved to find her doorstep jasmine free. _Thank goodness_. While she _does_ still get a few unwanted gifts here and there every few days or more, that’s been the norm of her life for the past few years. Even so, overall her mood has greatly improved. That particular pursuer was becoming quite worrisome…

At least now she can walk outside without almost tripping over a hoard of flowers. She hasn’t had that luxury in months. She hasn’t had to risk any fire safety by burning them in her back yard haphazardly either. The one or two bouquets she gets, Cyanthia happily tosses them into the garbage without the worry of it becoming too full.

“Matilda, I am going out for a bit,” Cyathia calls out as she slips on her shoes by the front door.

Matilda steps out from the kitchen, drying a wet plate on her apron “Oh, so early? Where to?” she asks.

“I am just going for a walk. I will be stopping by the Cafe for some coffee then return home.”

“Very well. I’ll have brunch finished before you return, Madame.”

“ _Merci_.”

It’s a quick walk to the cafe. Even someone going at a leisurely pace could make it in just under ten minutes (it was faster than driving honestly). Though, with the promise of brunch in the back of her mind, Cyanthia picks up the pace. It would be nice to get back home before the maid was finished, that way she could have a nice drink with her meal. And lucky for her, the coffee shop was remarkably uncrowded for how close it was to the lunch hour.

Cyanthia orders her iced cappuccino and quickly makes her way out of the cafe. As she briskly walks down the sidewalk back to the mansion, she spots something just up ahead. She squints, struggling to make out the details as she approaches. As she gets closer, it gets more and more familiar. Is that — It _is_.

She stops in front of a small building squished between two much larger ones. Its wood paneling is rotting and speckled with mildew. Everything looks as if it had been drenched in a monsoon, though it had not (yet) rained.

“Wisteria Groves…” Cyanthia says to herself quietly.

Strange, has it always been here? Yes, this was indeed the same place she’d been a week ago when she came in about the jasmines, but she didn’t realize it was in this specific area. How? She lived here her whole life, walked by here nearly every day she went out and never noticed it once. Funny… it’s rather noticeable, now that she thinks about it. Perhaps she was so caught up in finally locating it after hours of searching she didn’t even notice her surroundings...

Cyanthia stands in front of the store and ponders for a moment. She considers going inside and seeing if the Australian woman— Belladonna — from last week is working today. She’d like to thank her again, if possible. Very few ever take her side in these types of situations, and she is incredibly grateful. Not to mention, she felt rather rude for the assumptions she had made about her.

Yes, they were only known to herself and one wouldn’t blame Cyanthia after all her experiences, but… it couldn’t hurt?

She shakes her head. No, that would be… _strange_. Wouldn’t it? It’s not like she knew the whole situation, she was just giving basic kindness — that most people seem to withhold. Besides, didn’t she say something about not usually working there? Her parents were out of town or something — she couldn’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. She just needed to get home before brunch.

She resumes walking with great speed and—

_WHAM_

_Immediately smacks into someone headed from the other direction._

In the span of no more than a few seconds, Cyanthia’s coffee drops to the ground and splatters everywhere all over her shoes and drenches a small portion of the bottom of her dress. She, meanwhile, is sent falling to the ground from the sheer force of the impact.

She closes her eyes instinctively and braces herself, but she somehow doesn’t fall to the ground.

“Oi, you alright? I totally didn’t see you there.” a familiar voice says.

Instead of hard pavement, Cyanthia feels strong arms snugly around her back and the motion of being set upright. She can only blink as a stranger helps her regain her balance. It all happened so fast it’s as if she hadn’t almost fallen in the first place.

Cyanthia looks up to see none other than _Belladonna_ looking back at her in just as much surprise as she. It takes her a moment to even recognize her, having only seen her once. She looked completely different from what she remembered from their brief encounter. With her casual attire and untied hair that she could see under her hat — and especially her tremendous height. She must have not noticed before because she was sitting down, but she’s utterly surprised she somehow missed how tall she was! They’re both standing directly in front of one another, but she towers over Cyanthia like a building, even in her three-inch heels (though she is quite short, to begin with).

Realizing she’s been staring for far too long (again. She really _must_ stop doing that), Cyanthia quickly steps back and straightens her dress. She clears her throat, trying too hard to remain looking at the ground as she wipes invisible dirt on the thigh of her dress.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine— I should have watched where I was going, forgive me.”

“Oh, no, no it’s fine, I was just—” Belladonna pauses for a second as she looks Cyanthia in the face, eyebrows furrowing in concentration before going up in surprise. “Wait, you’re— you’re the one who came in about the Jasmines yesterday — right?”

Cyanthia looks back up to her. She mustn't have recognized her either. Well, that made her feel a little better. At least she wasn’t the only one terrible at remembering people.

“Uh, I’m sorry,” Belladonna begins “I’m really not good with names or faces, I’m drawing a blank.” she rubs the back of her head and gives the same quirky, though this time nervous, grin from yesterday. Complete with the dimple. It was quite endearing.

“Ah, yes, that was me... and it’s Cyanthia,” Cyanthia says.

“Right, knew it was something with an S!” Belladonna says confidently.

“It’s a C, actually...” she replies lamely, put on the spot.

“Oh, right — that’s totally what I meant,” Belladonna laughs. Then she quickly looks at a watch on her wrist “I don’t mean to be a hit and run, but I’m sure you’re a busy woman.”

Cyanthia shakes her head and quickly answers so she wouldn’t run off, hoping to speak with her even just a moment longer “No, no, it’s fine. I wasn’t paying attention. Truthfully all I came out for was some coffee.”

“Oh, that must have been what splattered on the ground, sorry about that—” Belladonna pauses as she looks to the ground where the offending plastic cup lay, contents spilled everywhere. Her face contorts in horror “Oh my god your _dress_.”

Confused, Cyanthia looks down to assess the damage. It couldn’t be that bad, the cup had fallen away from her. Most of the drink hit the sidewalk instead of her so surely there was only a small stain—

**Oh.**

She doesn’t even have to fan out the fabric to see that nearly every layer of the white ruffles on her dress is at least somewhat partially soaked by her coffee. The bottom had received the worst of it, nearly a two-foot-wide light brown splotch now dawned like some paint poured on a white canvas as a demonstration of horrible modern art.

Cyanthia hisses as if in pain, though only slightly irritated at the newfound stain. Really, it was only a slight inconvenience. It wasn’t like she didn’t have more than one outfit like some comic book character.

“Ah, that’s unfortunate but I can easily—” Cyanthia begins to say before being interrupted.

“Oh geez, I’m so sorry man,” Bella says, guilt ridden all over her face “you gotta let me make it up to you.”

Cyanthia looks back up “No, no, it’s quite alright.”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble — I know, let me cover your dry cleaning!”

Oh, no. _**No, no, no, no, no.**_ That’s far too expensive, even for Cyanthia. She couldn’t just pawn it off on some stranger over an accident. Either Matilda could get the stain out or it was to be thrown away.

“You are very kind but there’s no need, it is easily taken care of.” Cyanthia smiles as reassuring as she can, hoping to alleviate Belladonna of any responsibility she may feel.

“C’mon, I wouldn’t feel right about it,” She says sincerely “...at least let me buy you another drink?”

Cyanthia makes another attempt to protest. After all, she should be back before brunch. She doesn’t want Matilda to fret. She was only to be gone half an hour at most and her dress was ruined, she should hurry home. Though, the look in Belladonna’s eyes that says she is far too stubborn and polite to back down, Cyanthia doesn’t know if she could refuse.

Looking back down to the ground she spots her spilled coffee and silently mourns the loss. It had been a while since she had a good cup of hot coffee, and, well… she hadn’t wanted that iced cappuccino anyway. What was the harm?

“Very well, if you insist.”

* * *

“Here you go,” Belladonna says handing Cyanthia a cup. “One fresh caramel macchiato — on _me_ , this time,” she jokes.

Cyanthia grabs the drink and quickly sets the hot liquid down in front of her at the table where she sits, crossing her legs underneath it as she sits more upright to drink. Belladonna soon takes a seat across from her with a beverage of her own. She removes her hat and sets it by the window.

They’re now inside the small coffee shop she had left earlier, a table just near the door. The atmosphere is moody and dark, quiet chatter going on all around them. The lighting grows ever more so as clouds approach closer and closer becoming darker and darker just outside the window.

“Ah, thank you again — though it’s unnecessary. It was just a 5 euro drink,” Cyanthia says to the other.

Belladonna chuckles sheepishly “Oh, no problem at all — It’s the least I can do after putting you through the trouble.”

“I’m glad I ran into you again — ah, so to speak,” Belladonna says before she gets the chance to say anything.

“Oh…?” Cyanthia asks.

Belladonna nods, taking a quick swig of her drink. “I’ve been helping out my parents more these past few days,” she says “and you’re kind of a name in our little shop.”

Cyanthia tilts her head, a questioning look on her face.

“Yeah, I looked through our records and you’ve been getting stuff from us for _years_ , my folks even know you by name — well, _address_ , deliveries were never labeled with your name.”

Cyanthia hides her sigh by sipping her drink. Of course not, she was never anything but a pretty face to these men. They never bothered learning her name despite seeming so enamored. It was quite ridiculous really, with the reputation she likely has for the constant gifts it wouldn’t be very difficult to find so much as a name. It was like they went out of their way to remain ignorant of anything other than her beauty.

She didn’t know this before being told just now, she doesn’t read the letters, after all, but it was still insulting.

“Oh really? I didn’t know about your shop until I came in, I thought it was recent,” she says, trying to change the subject. Thankfully, Bella seems to pick up on it.

“Huh? Oh, yeah...” Belladonna says “It’s quite the hole in the wall, I’m not surprised. Most people miss it, but my parents have been running that place since way before I came home. 22 years almost.”

Cyanthia blinks. It certainly looked old, but she didn’t think it was _that_ old. It’s been around since before she was born. How did it remain hidden from her all these years? This is her hometown, and she never once heard it mentioned by anyone. It really must blend in with the surrounding buildings. She wonders if she really is that unobservant. Though, she wasn’t exactly a big fan of flowers, so that’s more likely the reason.

She sets down her cup and tilts her head “Came home? Do you mean university…?”

Belladonna shakes her head “As in from foster care — I’m adopted. They opened the shop when I was 2, took me in at 5.”

Ah, that made more sense. “Oh, were you born here?” Cyanthia asks, curious.

“Yep, I grew up in the old orphanage on Garden Road before it relocated. That’s where most of my siblings are from, too. My Mum and Dad are taking in fosters all the time.”

Cyanthia smiles “Your parents sound like wonderful people,” she says genuinely. They must be if they didn’t give any fuss over canceling any orders made to her home. At least, none that Belladonna spoke about.

She nods in agreement, a big warm smile on her face. “They’re great. If you ever come by the shop again you’re likely to meet them. Friendliest people I know.” She shrugs “But I _might_ be a little biased,” she says somewhat sarcastically, with amusement in her voice.

Cyanthia can’t help but laugh softly.

The conversation naturally flows from there, and Cyanthia unexpectedly finds herself engrossed in their discussion. It’s Belladonna that does most of the talking, but she pipes in with input wherever she can, and the other seems to appreciate what she has to say. She never was a conversationalist, and could quite honestly say she’s never really enjoyed learning about someone else and their interest, though Belladonna is… different.

She talks about her life and her family, where she went to school and her dream job, things like that. She was the oldest of all her (currently 10) siblings, most of them younger than 16. They all live together above the flower shop, which Cyanthia found surprising but Belladonna assures her it’s much larger than it appears.

Everyone gets along great, and she can’t remember a time they ever fought. Well, aside from getting to hold the new baby whenever her parents brought another home. They were well known for their work within the foster care system and helped plenty of children. They could likely empty an entire orphanage if the state allowed it, from how highly Belladonna spoke of them.

Cyanthia only had her brother and even with how great their relationship is they fought on occasion growing up. Though, as Belladonna explains, she is quite a bit older than the rest of her siblings. By the time any of them reached their early teen years, full of angst and mild aggression, they respected her as a sort of secondary mom. She seemed like she fit into that role.

Though she is sure Belladonna must have hobbies and activities she does outside of spending time with and taking care of her family, Cyanthia notices she doesn’t mention anything outside the flower shop. It was rather amusing. She claimed that she didn’t particularly enjoy manning the shop when she had to do so alone and had no interest in a similar career such as her parents (she was more interested in becoming a physical therapist for children). However, with the way she spoke of their craft, and her knowledge on the subject, it was only natural for one to assume otherwise.

Even after they finish their drinks and head out the door, she can’t pull herself away. Belladonna can’t stop talking and Cyanthia can’t help but listen as she walks her home. Though she knew her home was no more than ten minutes away, she still found herself disappointed as they soon approached the front gates of her home. Belladonna was just listing off her sibling’s favorite flowers (and the ridiculous reasons why.)

“And then when I tell her they aren't actually violets she starts _crying_ , and my Mum looks at me like — oh, hey we’re here.”

Cyanthia pulls her attention away from Belladonna for just a second to turn around and see her mansion just up to her driveway. Even from this distance she can see a small stack of bouquets sitting on her doorstep. She sighs. Not from exasperation from the unwanted gifts, but that their conversation had to prematurely end. She didn’t expect to enjoy her company as much as she did, and it’s been a while since she’s gone out like this. Wait, why exactly had she gone out again?

She turns back to Belladonna and smiles politely “Yes, thank you again for walking me home. And for the coffee, it was very kind of you.”

Belladonna waves her hand in the air to brush away the subject “Nah as I said, it was the least I could do. Had to pay you back in some way.”

Cyanthia huffs in understanding “Well then, consider the ‘debt’ paid.”

“Alright, alright,” Belladonna relents “but seriously, my offer still stands.”

Cyanthia had almost completely forgotten about the stain on her dress. She must have looked rather uncouth walking around in such a mess. Though the thought doesn’t bother her.

“You’ve already done more than enough today I think.” she pauses for a moment “Once again, thank you, it was… nice to see you again. I’ll see you later” Cyanthia prepares to walk up her driveway taking a few steps backward. For a moment she wonders if she was too forward, but Belladonna just beams.

“Right back at ya! Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Belladonna takes off her hat and waves as Cyanthia begins walking up to her driveway. She makes the trek leisurely holding the bottom of her dress to keep from getting any dirtier, in no particular hurry. She’s walked no more than halfway up the dirt path before Belladonna calls after her again, and she whips her head around at the sudden sound.

“Wait, I forgot, my parents wanted me to ask you something!” she yells, jogging a few feet up the driveway to get closer to Cyanthia. She stops just a few feet away from her. “You still get flower deliveries here? Like, from other shops I mean.”

Cyanthia gestures up to her front door “Ah, yes actually. Not as many as when I still got deliveries from your shop, but a few here and there.”

“Thought so — _Jesus this hill is steep —_ I forgot to bring it up earlier, but what do you usually do with all the gifts you get?” she asks, breathing only a bit labored from her quick jog.

What an odd question “Well, they take up a bit of space on my porch, so either I throw them out or burn them the moment they arrive... Why?”

“Well, if it’s not too much trouble, would you consider letting us take them off your hands instead?”

Cyanthia looks at her in surprise. Surely it's easier to dispose of them herself. What would their shop want with the bouquets she gets? She hardly believed there is any resale value in dying flowers that have been left out all night.

“What for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, well, you see, my family periodically donates our older flowers that haven’t sold. We give them out to events held by nonprofits and residents around town, it’s pretty much a part of our business practice” she explains “My parents hate when flowers go to waste, and if you’re willing to hold them for us we can guarantee a better use for them.”

Oh, wow, Cyanthia had never even thought of regifting the flowers before. She despises them so much she almost forgot that there were plenty of others who enjoyed that sort of thing. It was certainly a better use than taking up space in her garbage can.

Cyanthia nods “Yes, of course, that’s a wonderful idea.”

“Great!” Belladonna smiles widely “Here’s our number so you can call us whenever you get deliveries.” She hands Cyanthia a Wisteria Groves business card, white with shiny purple lettering that resembles the sheen of gold. “We can discuss how we’ll pick them up at a later date.”

She takes the card in her hand, and she ignores the way their fingers accidentally brush together as she does.

“I promise I will. Please extend my thanks to your parents, they are extremely thoughtful.”

Belladonna laughs “You can do so yourself, they’re sure to be in the shop next week! Give ‘em a call.”

With one last wave, Belladonna is off. Cyanthia watches as she makes her way down the driveway and the sidewalk, disappearing from view. Belladonna looks down at the card in her hand, before quickly stuffing it away in her coin wallet.

She would have to keep that in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can check me out and give me a follow on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Rusted_Crutches) if you previously followed me on tumblr.
> 
> My asks on tumblr are closed so if you have anything to say feel free to drop a comment! if not, consider leaving a Kudos — and if you already have, thanks a bunch!


	3. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the span of nearly half a year, I have more than doubled the word count for this fic and have nothing to show for it other than this single fatty chapter! 
> 
> Ingredients include;
> 
> -An unhealthy amount of exposition!  
> -Unessecary and complicated backstory for both leads!  
> -Introduction/explanation of two characters you will NEVER see again!  
> -Oversimplification and likely inaccurate depiction of the foster care system!
> 
> Seriously though, I did enjoy writing this chapter. Wrote just over 1,500 back in... I wanna say March(?) and pumped out the rest in 2-3 days. I have no idea where I am getting this energy from, but enjoy it!

“Belladonna, are you here?”

The bell rings above Cyanthia’s head as she enters Wisteria Grove, several bouquets in hand. Rows of flowers line the shop shelves, illuminated by fluorescent lights that hang from the ceiling, which seem brighter than usual from the darkness outside. Rain gently patters against the pane windows, a low rumble of thunder sounding in the distance. She quickly closes the door behind her as a large gust of wind blows into the store and sends loose petals flying everywhere.

Of course, she wouldn’t have had to walk in this weather in the first place if she hadn’t been so stubborn.

“Guess you should have let us make the pickup instead, huh?”

Cyanthia turns around to find Belladonna smiling at her from behind the counter, eyes closed, chuckling as she wipes her hands on a towel to rid of dirt. Her forehead is covered in sweat. She must have finished with some heavy lifting, Cyanthia thinks.

“Well, it wasn’t _nearly_ this bad when I left the house,” she lies, approaching the front counter. If it was for Belladonna, Cyanthia didn’t mind getting a little wet now and again.

“Aw, for me? You’re so sweet,” Belladonna jokes as Cyanthia hands her an armful of flowers.

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes playfully, removing her soaked rain poncho and hanging it on a nearby coat rack Belladonna had brought down specifically for her. "Of course, flowers for a _florist_. I should have known,” Cyanthia says sarcastically.

In the short amount of time they had known each other, Belladonna treats her with such familiarity. It was like they had been friends for years. It was refreshing. She hadn’t had a close friend in many ages — though Cyanthia found it strange how easy it was for her to reciprocate. She couldn’t explain it. It just felt… natural.

Belladonna laughs and sets the flowers aside before returning to work on the arrangement in front of her. It's a small collection of roses with a few other types of flowers Cyanthia hasn’t seen before. The colors range from a vibrant orange ombre to a cold cascading blue. It reminds her of a sunset on a hot summer day.

“It’s the thought that counts.” Belladonna shrugs, picking up her clippers. She gestures to the stool on the other side of the counter, urging Cyanthia to sit. “C’mon, catch your breath for a minute.”

Cyanthia sets her umbrella to the side and removes her hat to fix her hair. Annoyingly, she finds several petals stuck in her bangs. She plucks them out and tosses them to the ground, glaring at them briefly, as if they had offended her.

“Honestly I don’t know how you haven’t grown tired of these things,” she says, referring to the flowers. “They assault me enough, I can’t imagine working here. They get everywhere.”

“Eh, you get used to it — but it does get pretty boring,” Belladonna says as she looks at the clock impatiently. “Seriously, you’re gonna be the only thing keeping me from losing my mind for this final hour.” She smiles.

“Speaking of, what are you working on today?” Cyanthia asks.

Belladonna gestures to the bouquet. “Some couples graduation, I think. Been workin’ on it for the past half hour.”

Cyanthia hums in acknowledgment, inspecting the bouquet further as Belladonna continues to work on it. One of the flowers in the arrangement catches her eye. A bright orange one. It’s small and shriveled like a rolled-up tube, haphazardly littered throughout the bouquet. The pale green of their stems contrasts with the darker thorns of the roses, standing out against the much prettier looking flowers.

“Hey, those flowers. What are they?”

Belladonna looks up at her, “Huh, the orange ones? They’re… _Eschscholzia California,_ Californian poppies,” she replies, glancing at a book to her right.

“They’re quite plain-looking,” Cyanthia comments offhandedly, sounding rather unimpressed.

Belladonna chuckles. “They’ve gone into nyctinasty because it’s dark. It’s kinda like they’re sleeping.” She grabs the book and plops it in front of Cyanthia, and indeed they are much more beautiful when in full bloom. “That’s what they look like opened up. Still don’t bring much to the table, but they have a _beautiful_ orange-gold hue that contrasts super well with these blue roses.”

Cyanthia smirks in amusement. “And you say you aren’t interested in floristry,” she teases.

“And _you_ don’t normally like to talk about my work,” Belladonna throws back, “You catch a cold or something?”

Cyanthia playfully rolls her eyes, ignoring her. “But for color alone?” she says, referring to the aforementioned flowers. “I’m sure there are much more impressive plants similar in shade.”

“Ah, yes and no,” she says, “Flowers have meaning and stuff, like symbolism. We pick what goes together based mostly on if it looks good, but you gotta be careful which ones you use, might send the wrong message.”

“Oh?” Cyanthia wasn’t aware of that. She never paid any mind to the flowers she ever received. She couldn’t even identify most of them anyway. She never cared.

Belladonna nods, “Yeah, like, the blue rose represents… obtaining the impossible, and these,” she picks up one of the poppies in one of her gloved hands. “Have… something to do with love and endurance of the soul? It should say in that book.”

She reads the trivia section of the article;

_While the Golden poppy can symbolize the fields of gold during the gold rush era, it’s also thought of as a vessel; gathering bright warmth for the soul to drink from, allowing the heart to endure hardships._

“Anyway,” she continues. “This bouquet could mean ‘obtaining what we strive for is impossible, but with love, we still feel complete,’ or something like that — I dunno.”

“A bit cliche,” Cyanthia muses as she sets the book back on the counter.

It made her think of first time lovers. Naive middle and high Schoolers who believed they found their soulmate before they’re even old enough to get a job. They’re riding the high of their honeymoon phase, thinking they’ve gotten the rest of their lives figured out.

Not that she had any experience with young love. Or love at all. Her prime teen dating years were overcast by imaginary one-sided feuds with women she was trying to _pursue,_ and turning away the very same men _they_ sought after. It was depressing in hindsight, but at least she never got her heartbroken.

Belladonna looks away, almost embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m not great with flower language. I can read it pretty well, but speaking it is a whole other ordeal.”

Belladonna is obviously prompting her to list off a flower as an example. On the spot, Cyanthia’s eyes jump to one of the bouquets she had brought in earlier; a jumble of violet and purple lilacs. One of the more ugly things she’s received. She points to them with her finger.

“What about those?” she asks.

Grabbing the vase gently, Belladonna holds it up in the air and examines the flowers thoughtfully, nose wrinkling in a way Cyanthia found adorable. “Let’s see, these things come in all sorts of colors, but,” she thinks for a moment longer, “I think the violet one’s mean spirituality, n’ the light purple is first love.”

Cyanthia furrows her brow, disapprovingly, “Love at first sight?”

Belladonna scratches her head. “I… guess? That’s traditionally represented with violet roses, though. I think the customer handpicked these instead of the store. Two types of Hydrangea is kind of a weird mishmash.”

“Lilacs,” Cyanthia corrects.

“Damn it. I need a break — whatever, let's take a look at these other ones.”

Cyanthia watches as Belladonna examines the other three collections of flowers. She hems and haws as she considers them, referring back to the book on her desk a couple of times when she can’t quite seem to place something. Cyanthia puts her elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand, watching intently.

“Do people put a lot of thought into these sorts of things?” She found flowers a strange (yet… interesting?) way to communicate feelings and messages. Besides, what was the point if you could just send a note?

Belladonna nods, picking out a white flower from one of the arrangements. “Yeah, people used flowers like this throughout history, but it’s kinda fallen out of style. A bit of a dying art.” She examines it in her hand. “nowadays _most_ people only care about looking pretty and don’t give much thought behind the meaning.” She gives the flower a disappointed look.

Cyanthia tilts her head. She supposes that’s romantic, if for just the effort alone. “What’s that one?”

“It’s uh,” she flips through a few pages in the book. “A white lotus.” She turns back to the flower, setting it again with the others without even glancing at the rest of the page. “They represent purity. They make good bouquets at weddings, so it’s coming off like a pushy proposal.”

Cyanthia must have had quite the sour look on her face because Belladonna quickly sets aside the vase with the others and pushes them out of the way. “I’m sorry — you probably don’t wanna hear all this from these guys—”

“No, not at all, I find it rather interesting, actually.” She pauses to examine a flower. “I suppose I just can’t... _appreciate_ the language, as others do.”

Truthfully, Cyanthia can’t say if she’ll ever be able to look at a flower without wanting to set it on fire, but the way Belladonna talks about them… honestly, she could listen for hours (if nothing else just to hear her speak). Something about her made them at least somewhat interesting. She was a wall of separation between all the negative feelings for what they represent.

Belladonna smiles gently in understanding, “Well, I'm glad someone does.” She returns to the bouquet, grabbing a rose, and begins to de-thorn it. “You should see me trying to teach a mock class to the kids up at the community center. Bores ‘em to death, I swear.”

“You mention them quite a bit,” Cyanthia muses, “That orphanage you revisit a lot too. You love children?”

Cyanthia, of course, already knows the answer. With how much she speaks of them, praising and boasting about anything and everything whenever she got the chance. From their chat in the coffee shop alone, she knew Belladonna was obsessed.

She laughs. “Yeah, I’m not very good with ‘em tho. I annoy the hell outta my little siblings, say I embarrass them, praise them over the stupidest things…” She smiles fondly despite her words.

“Nonsense, I hear you’re an _excellent_ babysitter.”

“Oh, Ma been talking your ear off?” Belladonna jokes, but they both know it’s the truth. Her parents brag about her as she does her siblings. It’s no surprise where she gets it from. “But, Nah, they tolerate me. I’m their _mean_ big sister telling them what to do.” She pauses, “but they _love_ you.”

Cyanthia looks at her with surprise, an eyebrow raised, “They haven’t even met me.”

“Doesn’t stop them from thinking you’re some Disney princess.” Belladonna puts down the clippers and mimics her siblings “ _She’s so pretty mommy, can I talk to her pleaaaase?_ ” She shakes her head “If we Damien down here, he’d _never_ leave you alone.”

Ah, the five-year-old, Cyanthia had heard about him the most. He got into all sorts of trouble when Belladonna watched over him and their siblings. She swore up and down he only did it to her and was a perfect little angel around their parents. It reminded Cyanthia of Arnick — except _he_ was the devil incarnate by age four. Her brother was a mischievous prankster at best.

“Well, he sounds much more charming than the men typically interested in me.”

They both break out into a small fit of giggling, Belladonna trying to control her snorts. Cyanthia feels a strange sense of accomplishment. She can’t quite pinpoint it, but the bubbling sound does something to her stomach. It takes Belladonna a moment to catch her breath, and she takes a drink of water from a nearby cup.

“What about you?” Belladonna asks, sputtering through her lingering giggles, “You any good with kids?”

Cyanthia thinks for a moment “I’m not sure,” She says “I looked after my brother a lot — but we are very close in age.” She pauses “and he, of course, was the root of all evil, so it’s hardly fair to compare him to a normal child.”

Belladonna almost spits out her water. Cyanthia had spoken about Arnick to her previously but never gave much detail. “I take you and your brother don’t get along?” she asks.

She laughs softly, “Not as children, no.” There were plenty of stories to be told about their childhood together, but he often complained whenever she _‘sullied’_ his reputation to random strangers. Perhaps another time. “We’re step-siblings, my mother married his father, and we were just at that age where change was difficult, so we took our frustrations out on each other.”

“Oof, yeah, a new addition to the family is a little rough sometimes.” Cyanthia had no doubt Belladonna knew better than anyone. She can only imagine having to go through the process more than once. “Much better now, yeah?”

Cyanthia smiles. “Of course. These days we’re almost inseparable.”

They visit each other nearly daily. Cyanthia honestly wouldn’t know how to handle everything without Arnick by her side. She pauses for a moment, reflecting on their childhood. Now that she thinks about it, though she gave him hell about his younger self, he wasn’t all that bad growing up. A little rough around the edges during his early teens, but he got into shape swiftly enough.

“It’s funny. It’s all of… _this,_ ” Cyanthia gestures to the flowers she had brought in. “That brought us together.”

Belladonna gives her a strange look before reaching below the counter to mess with something. “Really?”

“Yes. His father — _my stepfather_ — was quite protective of me growing up. He saw the gifts and pestering as much harassment as I did.” Which to this day, she finds surprising. Not even her mother (who thought Cyanthia was just snobby) sided with her. “My brother looked up to him a lot, and… when our father passed, he took after his example.”

“...I’m sorry to hear about your step-father,” Belladonna says sympathetically. “But I’m glad you at least had someone on your side all these years. The way you talk, it sounded like the world’s against you.”

Cyanthia never talked about him much. If she ever did, others always skewed it away from his favor. Many saw him as unnecessarily overprotective and controlling when it was the furthest from the truth. No one ever understood. It’s like everyone hears the opposite of what she says sometimes. Everyone is always thinking and speaking on her behalf, even though she never asked them to.

She looks back up to Belladonna from zoning out as she watches her work with the bouquet. She has more than just her brother now. “Don’t be,” she smiles honestly, “and thank you.”

They sit in comfortable silence for several minutes, simply enjoying each other's company. The need for conversation is no longer demanding. The only sounds are that of Belladonna clipping and trimming flowers, the rain landing against the windows, and the ticking of the wall clock as it got closer and closer to the end of the workday, where Belladonna and Cyanthia’s little visit would come to a close.

“Y’know, I think we got brought together the same way,” Belladonna says after a while.

Cyanthia sighs contently. No doubt. She wouldn’t even have known Belladonna’s shop existed otherwise.

“Funnily enough, It _was_ my brother who gave me the idea to approach you about the jasmines. I hadn’t even thought about it before then.”

Belladonna smiles knowingly. “I’ll have to thank him then,” She says, making Cyanthia blush and turns her head.

She will, too. Of all the things the flowers have brought her over the years, Belladonna was one of the best.

* * *

— _CRASH—_

“Jesus _Christ_ —!” Cyanthia exclaims in surprise, placing a hand over her beating heart. Broken ceramic lays scattered around her feet, speckling the stony grey of her front porch with tiny white dots and flower petals.

“Such buttery fingers…” Cyanthia scolds herself. She yells for Matilda. “Matilda, bring the dustpan — and be careful, there are broken shards everywhere.”

Cyanthia picks up the bundle of flowers carefully, lightly dusting them off to dislodge any stray specks of dirt and ceramic caught in their petals. She examines them, shaking her head with annoyance. Perfect, now she was going to have to find something else to put the flowers in.

Matilda passes by with a dustpan and broom as Cyanthia enters the kitchen, flowers in hand. Setting them on the counter by the others, she decides to leave them without a vase for the time being. She’ll bring them to Belladonnas without, she’s sure to have a spare lying around.

Well, hopefully.

…

Cyanthia pulls a cup from the sink and fills it with water, placing the flowers inside — just in case.

She pouts. It’s nearly been two weeks since Cyanthia’s last visited Belladonna in the shop. They haven’t gotten to see each other much at all, now that she thinks about it. They’ve still bumped into each other here and there, of course. Either while out and about at shops or just passing by on the street, but it’s been a while since they’ve had a proper outing.

Belladonna has grown increasingly busy recently. With summer fast approaching and the end of the school year following just behind, the shop has been flooded with a surplus of special orders and customers. Their children were all either graduating, going off to college, or traveling to study abroad, and they, naturally, wanted something special for the occasion. Not to mention her own family preparing for their own celebrations, a few of her siblings entering high school next year themselves.

Though she understands and sympathizes with her ever growing busy schedule, Cyanthia hopes she will get to see her again soon. She hasn’t had the chance to visit her in the shop recently, Belladonna driving over to her home to pack up the flowers herself before driving off just a few minutes later.

Their meetings in the shop were pleasant. She missed them. Something about it was so calm and relaxing — and Cyanthia never thought she’d enjoy being surrounded by 100’s of flowers.

_—RING, RING—_

Cyanthia exits the kitchen at the sound of the phone ringing. Now, who could be calling the landline? Matilda, still tending to the mess on the porch, stands and straightens her uniform. “Allow me, miss—”

“No, I’ll get it,” Cyanthia says as she walks over to the home phone, “Please continue, I don't want anyone cutting their feet.”

Matilda nods, “Very well.”

Cyanthia quickly takes the phone off its receiver, saving the call on the very last ring. “Hello, Laguiole residence Cyanthia speaking, May I ask who’s calling?” Wow, it’s been a while since she’s had to say _that_.

“ _Finally_.” The voice on the other end is none other than Belladonna — sounding quite winded. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for 15 minutes. Your mobile’s off.”

She looks over to the dining room table, where her phone lay forgotten. She rarely uses the thing, only starting to more frequently with Belladonna. She doesn’t have it on her most of the time. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting to hear from anyone today — Do you need something?” Cyanthia asks.

There’s the sound of rustling on the other end of the line before Belladonna speaks again, “Yeah, I hate to ask last minute, but y'know that trip to the hospital I'm taking today?”

“Of course, what about it?”

“Well, our delivery guy called in sick today so I had to take his shift.” The sound of a car door closing is heard through the receiver. ”I’m not gonna have time to stop by your place, would it be too much trouble if you met me up there with any bouquets you have?”

Cyanthia looks over to the small pile of flowers on the counter and bites her lip. It wasn’t a whole lot, but she wouldn’t be able to carry all of them by herself. Shoot, her driver was off for the weekend too. Maybe if she gets a taxi…

“No trouble at all,” Cyanthia replies quickly, not wanting to pass up a chance to see Belladonna for the first time in what felt like weeks. “What time should I be there?”

“Awesome! Meet me there at 2:30. I’ll text you the directions.”

* * *

Cyanthia steps out into the hallway, the elevator doors dinging closed behind her with a soft ‘clunk’. She takes a look around, and finds it mostly empty, save for one or two nurses chatting by a vending machine. “I hope this is the right floor…” She turns right, taking only a few steps before a voice calls out from behind her.

“Yo, Cy!” Cyanthia turns and is relieved to find Belladonna walking up to her, a large basket of flowers in her arms. She smiles, giving a small wave as she approaches. “You already drop off the bouquets at the front desk?” she asks.

Cyanthia nods. “I told them they were from you, just like you asked.”

“Great, Thanks a bunch!” Belladonna pats her on the shoulder before walking ahead, motioning for her to follow. “I’ll go ahead and drive you home, but I got one last stop to make, come with me.” Cyanthia follows obediently, her heels clicking against the tiles on the floor.

“So what’s the occasion?” Cyanthia asks, curiously eying the bundle of flowers she’s carrying. It’s a plain assortment of soft pink flowers with an aroma she was unfamiliar with but didn’t find unpleasant.

Belladonna looks over to her. “Hm?”

“Oh, you don’t normally hand deliver,” She says. “So I thought perhaps you were making a personal visit.”

Belladonna chuckles. “Oh, something like that.” Cyanthia doesn’t question further. She had a feeling she was going to find out soon enough.

Soon they arrive at the children's ward, signified by a drastic change in wall color, and a large comical sign with rainbow, misshapen letters hanging off the ceiling. Silly stickers of cartoon characters litter the doors and windows of all the hospital rooms as they make their way to the end of the hallway. Cyanthia can’t quite remember Belladonna ever mentioning if any of her siblings were in the hospital.

“Go ahead and wait here,” Belladonna says, stopping in front of a room with a large glass wall. Inside, Cyanthia can see a handful of children scattered about the room, a couple sitting at a small round table with a woman. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Cyanthia shuffles to stand by the wall near the door, creaking shut as Belladonna enters. She tries not to be too nosy as she waits, but Cyanthia can’t stop from taking a peak from the corner of her eye. It’s not like she was eavesdropping. She can’t hear them through the glass, and she’s hardly a lip reader.

She watches as Belladonna approaches the table, setting down the flowers in front of the older black woman helping a child with a toy. The woman suddenly turns around, surprise written all over her face before quickly morphing into glee, her smile stretching from ear to ear. Belladonna hugs her as she stands, towering over her by at least half foot, resting her cheek on top of her head, burying face in her grey hair.

Cyanthia wonders if she’s a friend or relative.

“What’re you doing?” Nearly jumping out of her own skin, Cyanthia whips around to find a young boy, no older than ten, standing behind her. He stares up at her expectantly. “‘Scuse me—.”

She lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief, cutting him off. “ _Goodness_ , has anyone ever taught you it’s _rude_ to sneak up on people?”

“Did anyone teach _you_ it’s rude to spy?” He replies flatly.

Cyanthia is a bit caught off guard by his boldness. She stares at him for a moment, brows furrowed, blinking slowly. He mirrors her in a mocking fashion. ‘ _Who is responsible for this sassy lost child?_ ’

She takes a look around them, several women in scrubs at the end of the hallway the only nurses in sight. None of the parents walking by or loitering around rooms notice him at all. She looks back to him with a frown.

“What about talking to strangers?” she shoots back.

“You don’t know me either.”

Cyanthia has to resist the urge to openly glare at him. She honestly can’t tell if he’s messing with her, or if children are just… _like that_. He tilts his head. She opens her mouth to respond, to ask him where his parents are, but she’s interrupted by the sound of a door opening behind her.

“What’s going on here?” Belladonna asks before her eyes dart down to the boy, and she smiles nervously. It’s barely noticeable, but Cyanthia could see it in her eyes. “Ah, I see you’ve met Damien.”

“Belladonna!” the boy — _Damien_ — shouts his eyes lighting up. He jumps into her arms excitedly. She catches him easily with an _oof_ and sends Cyanthia a look of apology.

“Yes…” Cyanthia hesitates. “He is very… _charming._ ” For lack of a _better_ word.

“What did I tell you about bugging people, huh?” Belladonna asks Damien. “And why are you outside the room? You know the rule.”

He whines. “I’m bored! I wanted someone to talk to.”

Belladonna pats him on the back. “You have Lean for that. Go on, get going.”

“Awww.” Belladonna gives him a stern but patient look. “No whining or I’ll have her call your parents again.”

“Why am I getting in trouble? She was the one spying on you!” He kicks and whines, Belladonna lifting him from the ground, and urging Cyanthia to open the door for her, which she gladly does.

“Ah, quit being a tattletale. Now get back in there.” She gives him a nuggie before shoving him in the room gently, closing the door behind him.

He turns around, folding his arms and glaring at them both through the window, before sticking his tongue out at Cyanthia (which she hates to admit, almost gets a visible reaction out of her). The woman inside calls to him, and he jumps in surprise before obediently running over. She looks over to Belladonna, who gives a wave, before setting Damien on her lap and turning around in her seat.

Belladonna turns to Cyanthia with a raised eyebrow. “Spying, huh?” she says amused.

Cyanthia shifts nervously and shrugs feeling a tad embarrassed. “I wouldn’t quite call it _spying_ , but-.”

“I’m just joshing ya,” Belladonna laughs, giving Cyanthia’s shoulder a slight bump with her fist. “It’s fine. I had you wait out here so you wouldn’t get swarmed by kids — they love new visitors.” She starts walking down the hall, urging her to follow. “C’mon, let’s talk in the van.”

...

“So what was all that about?” Cyanthia asks as she clicks her seat belt into place.

They’re inside Belladonna’s parent’s rusty old van they use for flower deliveries. It’s musty and grimey inside from old age, but Cyanthia has ridden in it a handful of times so she’s no longer bothered by it. At least, she’s trying _not_ to be, but there was so much dust (or pollen? She couldn’t tell) covering the seats and doors Cyanthia couldn’t set her hands down anywhere without pulling away absolutely covered in it. She holds her hands in her lap, trying not to rub against the car door as they drive through the parking lot.

“Oh, Damien?” Belladonna says. “Yeah, sorry about him, he’s kind of a troublemaker and overly attached. He’s always trying to get people into trouble.”

Cyanthia nods. “You know I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that impatient before.” It wasn’t like she lost her cool or snapped at him, but it was pretty clear to any adult standing nearby she was a _little_ fed up with him.

“Yeaaaaah,” Belladonna sighs. “I try hard to be with him… but he’s…” she hesitates. “A bit much sometime’s, y’know?”

“I can imagine. You have the patience of a saint.”

“Thanks,” she laughs.

They fall silent, Belladonna focusing on driving and Cyanthia watching her in thought. She considers her words for a moment before speaking. “What about that woman - if it’s okay for me to ask?”

“Lean?” Cyanthia nods and Belladonna slowly lets out a puff of air from the corner of her mouth as she bites her lip.

“I don’t mean to be so nosy,” Cyanthia says nervously, worried she may have just overstepped her boundaries. The last thing she wanted to do was offend her or invade her privacy. “I let my curiosity get the best of me back there, I-”.

Belladonna shakes her head, sending her a quick look of reassurance before refocusing on the road. “Nah nah nah nah nah, it’s totally fine… I’m just trying to think.” She tsks. “Where to start…”

She hums and haws for a moment, tapping on the steering wheel idly. There’s a look of concentration in her eyes which Cyanthia only normally sees while she works. She clears her throat.

“Well, you know about how I used to be in the foster system right?”

Cyanthia nods hesitantly, not sure which direction the conversation was heading. “Yes, until you were six months old when your parents adopted you.”

“Well, that ain’t the whole truth,” Belladonna says. “The foster care system is really strict and overbearing, especially when it comes to young kids and infants. So parents have to go through a lot before they can officially adopt.” She quickly glances at the rearview mirror. “Sometimes months, maybe even a year.”

Cyanthia furrows her eyebrows. “Are they all so strict? Or just the one for this district?” Admittedly, the most she knows in-depth about the foster care system is from books and television, but she’s heard plenty by word of mouth to guess it can be either a hit or miss depending on where/who you are.

“Varies from county to county,” Belladonna shrugs. “But the one here is the worst in the state. It’s better now,” she admits. “but they used to have _super_ high standards. Couldn’t adopt if you had so much as an _infraction_ on your criminal record from over a _decade_ ago.”

“Goodness,” Cyanthia scoffs. “No wonder the orphanages used to be so overfilled.” She can’t count the number of her friends and acquaintances in high school that were in foster care throughout their attendance. Almost all of them eventually aged out of it, never given a kind and loving home as they were often promised.

“Yeah, exactly. They had all sorts of stupid rules just to keep people from adopting out of _spite_ ,” Belladonna continues. “They had a _vendetta_ against childless singles and couples, man. My parents had to fight tooth and nail to even be _evaluated_ by a child protective services agency.”

Cyanthia makes a face of genuine disgust. “That’s _horrendous_.”

“ _Right?_ ” Belladonna exclaims, slapping a hand against the steering wheel. “Honestly I don’t even know _how_ they got approved with so much going against them, but _someone_ wasn’t happy about it.” She scoffs. “Social workers were practically up my parent’s ass for the first half of my life. Like, 8 years!”

“Is that even _legal_?”

“Probably not,” Belladonna snorts. “But there wasn’t a whole lot they could do.” She pulls up at a stop sign, pausing to check for traffic, before making a left. “These people would use _any_ excuse to delay the finalization of my adoption.” She begins listing things off on her hand. “My parents dealt with: frequent emergency home inspections. Mental stability assessments. Even surprise doctor visits with _multiple_ pediatricians that examined me for an _hour_ , looking for _any_ sign of abuse.”

As she lists off the numerous things her family was subjected to, Cyanthia begins to find it harder and harder to believe the system was at all capable of reform. Evidently, with Belladonna’s already large family getting bigger by the year, things turned out for the better, but Cyanthia can’t possibly see how. She has an easier time believing her parents had all their children _naturally_.

“You get it — it was bullshit,” Belladonna finishes with a huff. “Anyway, with them breathing down our necks, my parents lived in constant fear that the state would take me away. We had to be extra careful. So much as a scrape or cut, failing grades at school would send CPS into an uproar.”

Cyanthia can’t even imagine them going through all that grief. Belladonna’s parents, though their meetings brief and far and in between, were some of the kindest, patient people she has ever met. How a heartless agency could look them in the eye and tell them they were not fit to care for their daughter, was beyond her comprehension.

“So I made sure not to play too rough and wild. My parents helped me study hard and made sure any problems at school were handled quickly and professionally.” Belladonna sighs. “But even then it wasn’t always enough.” Cyanthia’s heart sinks.

“There’s a lot we had to hide. Nothing horrible, but stuff we were paranoid about. Little stuff, y’know?” Belladonna frowns, shaking her head. “I remember one time I cut up my leg on an old, wooden playset — an accident — and I had to wear baggy jeans to hide the bandages for a _week_. I even forced myself to walk without limping so as not to give it away.” She grimaces, letting out a quiet hiss while rubbing her left leg. “Hurt like a bitch.”

“You’re kidding,” Cyanthia asks, practically slack-jawed. Belladonna shakes her head.

“We had some pretty close calls over the years, but things came to a head when I entered middle school.” Belladonna visibly tenses, and Cyanthia thinks she might crack the steering wheel. She lets out a breath, releasing her tight grip to make another turn.

“I ended up getting targeted by bullies. The principal wouldn’t do anything about it, and we couldn’t switch schools without attracting attention… so I had no choice but to deal with it. Parents would intervene if they ran into me in public. Kept me away from wherever they frequented, but during school hours I was outta luck,” she says airily. “I was tormented constantly, and well, eventually-”

“It became too much. So you lashed out.” Cyanthia says quietly, taking the words right out of her mouth.

Belladonna laughs nervously. “I’m that predictable, huh?” There’s a distant crack in her voice Cyanthia almost doesn’t catch.

Cyanthia shakes her head. “It’s what anyone would have done in your situation.” Belladonna bites her lip and nods, but Cyanthia isn’t convinced she believes her. “What happened after that?” She asks after nearly thirty seconds of silence.

Belladonna hesitates. “Well, CPS got involved, obviously,” she says quietly, just loud enough to hear over the roaring engine of the van. “And I was placed back into foster care for nearly a year. I was stuck in an orphanage, scared and alone, while my parents fought tooth and nail with the courts to get me out.”

“That… must have been horrible,” Cyanthia says, voice hoarse. She feels stupid saying something so… empty sounding, but she can’t even begin to come up with words of comfort. She was always useless at this sort of thing.

“Yeah. It ripped our family apart. I caused my parents so much grief.” She goes quiet for a moment, the van coming to stop at an intersection. “At one point I thought they would abandon me. I caused all this trouble, I honestly couldn’t understand why they would want me back after all of it.”

Cyanthia’s heart aches in sympathy for Belladonna. She may not be able to fully understand her pain. Losing her parents to a system that actively fought to separate them… she couldn’t _imagine_ the hopelessness they all felt. But she knows how it feels to lose that helping hand that once guided and protected you, in your life for but a fleeting moment before it’s gone.

In a moment she would later debate was one of confidence or lack of inhibition, Cyanthia reaches over and places a tender hand on Belladonna’s knee. She looks over to her, somewhat surprised, but doesn’t pull away. Cyanthia stares into her eyes with the most earnest, caring look she can muster.

“I’m sure, they _never_ thought of you as a burden, Belladonna,” she says with such certainty she understands she can’t possibly know but _feels_ conviction in her heart. “They fought for you every step of the way because they _love_ you.”

A beat passes. They stare into each other's eyes, not so much as blinking in the span they remain locked in place. After a moment, Cyanthia notices Belladonna’s mouth fighting to curve into a smile. Then… she starts _laughing._

Belladonna tries to hide it as a cough, but there's no use trying to hold it in. It comes out as more of a chuckle than a full-on laugh, but the effect is still the same. Cyanthia goes red in embarrassment, retracting her hand quickly and scooting as far over in her seat as she can in an attempt to hide away. _Oh great, what did she say?!_

Noticing her reaction, Belladonna tries to halt her laughter. “Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you I _swear_ ,” she says. “It’s just, you sound _exactly_ like my friend _right_ before she starts punching me in the arm, telling me not to be such a downer.” She clears her throat one final time, the only reminder of her outburst soft giggles she can’t keep down. “I’ve never heard that speech so _sincerely_ before.”

Cyanthia toys with her bangs, staring at Belladonna’s reflection in the window. “That’s rude of her,” is the only thing she can mumble, still recovering from embarrassment.

“Well, you’re both right,” Belladonna says with a warm, bright smile. The stoplight turns green, a car honking from behind them before she steps back on the gas. “I was afraid and uncertain at the time, but things ended up working out. Y’know that woman you saw today, Lean?”

Cyanthia perks up at that, turning back to watch Belladonna as she drives. She had almost completely forgotten she asked about that. A common theme with Belladonna, the not-so-brief storyteller. Not that she would ever say that to her face.

“Lean’s a family counselor with a background in family law. She heard about our case and decided to help us out. I don’t know how she did it, but she struck a deal with the courts that allowed me back in the home on the condition we had daily sessions with her.” Belladonna shakes her head and smirks. “Everything went back to normal after a few months. CPS even finalized my adoption.”

“That’s wonderful,” Cyanthia smiles.

“Yeah, and sometime after that, she, with the help of some lawyers, aired out their dirty laundry to the public, exposing them for their shitty practices. The whole county got a staff overhaul reform… and well, the rest is history.”

Cyanthia nods in understanding. “I see. So you wanted to thank her in person.” Cyanthia didn’t even know the woman, but she too had the sudden overwhelming desire to hug and thank her for all she’s done. Something about Belladonna was rubbing off on her.

“She’s done _so_ much for us — and still does. Whenever there’s an infant or toddler in the area that needs a home, she recommends us.” Belladonna says, her smile becoming more somber and nostalgic. “I don’t get many opportunities these days, being so busy. I like to see her when I can.”

Cyanthia leans back into her seat with a smile of understanding. The rest of the ride is quiet and peaceful.

“Well, here we are,” Belladonna says as they pull up to Cyanthia’s house a few minutes later. She puts the car into park. “Thanks for helping me out, I know it was kinda last minute and out of your way.”

“It’s no problem at all.” She shakes her head with a smile, opening the van door. Her left foot hits the ground, and she pauses. Turning back around as she slides out of her seat, she faces Belladonna, who looks at her expectantly. “And… thank _you_ , Belladonna.”

Belladonna raises an eyebrow. “What for.” Cyanthia shrugs. “Being so open with me. Trusting me enough to tell me about everything… I know it mustn't have been easy.”

“Well, thanks for listening to me vent,” she replies with a laugh before her face becomes a bit more serious. “It’s… I think about it a lot, and it’s not often I can get it off my chest.” She shakes her head.

“Well, I’m glad I was able to be of assistance.”

“Just… keep it between you and me. I don’t want my parents to know I still think about it. Make ‘em feel guilty or somethin’.”

“Yes, of course,” Cyanthia says seriously. She thinks it would do some good if Belladonna talked this out with her parents… but that wasn’t her place. Cyanthia isn’t exactly the pinnacle of communication with her mother either, so what did she know?

“Good, because if you do…” Belladonna’s face goes stone cold, her eyes focused on Cyanthia’s. “I’ll deny it. I won't know what the hell you’re talking about,” she says with a shrug, face turning to one of comical faux confusion.

Cyanthia laughs, smile bright and wide. “I’ll see you later, Belladonna.”

“Cya, Cy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos appreciated!
> 
> [Check me out on tumblr!](rusted-crutches.tumblr.com)


End file.
